


Young Men and their Gangly Limbs

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-10
Updated: 2006-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus has a birthday.  Sirius has Plans ™</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Men and their Gangly Limbs

With the mischievousness reserved for young men with overly gangly limbs -

(a paper had been published in _Biomagical Genetics and Deep Wizarding Thoughts_ some months before, analyzing the correlation between knock-knees, bony hips, and a predilection for trouble. While the paper bore a suitably academic title, Lily Evans immediately thrust it in the faces of three of the four ne'er-do-wells known to regularly take up space at her kitchen table and suggested it should've been called 'why the Marauders are professionally disastrous skinny bastards and don't give me that look, James Potter')

\- Sirius Black half-opened one eye and watched Remus Lupin pull on a pair of jeans.

It was March 10. Remus was twenty enormous, mind-boggling years old, and off to spend the day courting some wizened old crone to join the Order. Not a very good way to spend a birthday, Sirius thought – not a very good way to be a hero for an underground organization of Truth And Justice either if it came down to that. He'd imagined, when he joined the Order, that there'd be rather more wand-fights in darkened alleys and swearing at Death-Eaters as he turned them into sparkly pink ooze than tea parties and petition drives. In reality, there'd been a great deal of what Dumbledore liked to call 'community building' and trips to charm various magical folk into joining the cause. Sirius hadn't been asked to do much charming after the first couple of attempts, but Remus had proven adept at Doily Diplomacy (James' phrase) and was forever being sent off into the wilds of Somerset to take tea with old women and talk gnome populations with old men.

Poor, sad, twenty-year-old, birthday-having Remus.

Sirius shut his eye quickly when Remus turned to pull on a shirt, to swathe himself in the folds of an oversized sweater and finger-comb his hair into something that almost didn't look like a bird's nest.

"You awake?" Remus asked quietly.

Sirius drooled a little on his pillow for effect.

"See you later then," Remus whispered, and even with his eyes closed Sirius could hear the lilting edges of Remus' smile. He loved his Moony and the daft-bastard grins he liked to bestow when he thought Sirius wasn't looking.

Sirius was _always_ looking.

Remus pulled the bedroom door closed behind him and shuffled off in what sounded like the direction of the kitchen. There was the rustle of the bread bag and the sloshing of juice into a glass; the slide of a notebook being shoved into a canvas satchel, and a sigh as Remus no doubt girded his loins for a day of being sweet to witches who wanted to pinch his cheeks.

Sirius eased out of bed, and caught his pyjama bottoms just before they slid clean off his hips. (Being bony and therefore a natural repository of the universe's mischief was a right bloody brilliant thing, but there were days when he wished his arse could try a bit harder to keep his trousers up). He crept to the door and waited for Remus to head down the hallway; affected a jaw-cracking yawn and a sleepy demeanour; pulled the door open and stumbled out of the bedroom looking utterly nonplussed and rather confused.

"Whatchoo . . . " he managed, faking confusion.

"Order job," Remus smiled, standing by the front door.

Sirius yawned again and scratched his bare belly. "Mmmmm, yeah," he nodded, and shuffled down the hallway to Remus. "Gone all day?'

"Likely," Remus said, hitching a shoulder.

"Mmmmm. So – " Sirius leaned in and slid a hand up the back of Remus' neck, pulling him in and kissing him fervently – a kiss that was wide-awake and messy and sharp, drag of lips and nip of teeth. He pulled back and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, grinning a little wildly. "Happy Birthday," he said.

Remus blinked, pupils blown wide, and nodded dumbly.

"See you 'bout four?" Sirius said, fingers flexing in Remus' hair, scratching gently against his scalp.

Remus nodded again.

"Brilliant," Sirius said, and let him go. Remus bit his own lip, flushed a charming shade of pink, and slipped out the door. "Score," Sirius said under his breath, and did a little jig down the hallway on his way to the kitchen.

*****

Birthdays were, Sirius believed, a Serious Business. _This_ birthday was particularly serious, since it came with a flat and a toaster that Lily had given them, which meant they were Committed, and that changed everything. Dungbombs and scarves and dirty books and chocolate were now passé: Committed People did better than that on birthdays, and Sirius had plans – Big Stinking Plans; Plans That Would Hopefully Lead to Lots of Sex. He hitched up his pyjama bottoms, looked at the flat, and tried to make his plan of attack.

> List of Big Stinking Plans (Not in Order)
> 
> 1) Decorations. (Birthdays required balloons and streamers and possibly dancing girls, although that had only been that once, and Lily had objected, and Remus was very gay. Dancing boys?)
> 
> 2) Cake. (Cake was very important – cake with icing and candles and sometimes dancing girls but Remus was, well, still very gay)
> 
> 3) Presents. (Presents should be wrapped and glorious and brilliant and Sirius had this covered and had also convinced Peter that under no circumstances was it appropriate to give Remus jam.)

  
Cake, Sirius decided. Cake was definitely the way to go.

In his boundless love for Remus Lupin, Sirius had already deigned to ask Evans for cake advice. Once she'd recovered from laughing herself sick (the harpy), she'd proven quite helpful – she had books with recipes and tips involving "sieves" and even some bowls and wooden spoons and cake pans, all of which were good things, since a cake was rather hard to create when you had nothing with which to mix it etc.

Cake making was, Sirius decided half an hour later, bloody hard work. The butter had been hard, and while Evans had repeatedly said he was to use NO SPELLS AT ALL it seemed like he couldn't do much harm with a quick charm to soften up the bloody stuff – right until he set it on fire. He watched, enthralled, as the plastic bowl melted and the butter burned purple – he hadn't known butter could do that, which was probably a mercy considering the damage he could've done during breakfast at school. A banishment charm took care of the mess, and he started out again, this time mixing things up in a sandwich box, since his bowl was ruined, and the only other large-ish receptacle about was the laundry basket, and that seemed a bit twiggy for everyone's good.

After butter and sugar came eggs, which were tricky buggers to open without getting eggshells all over, and then came flour, which seemed to go everywhere without any encouragement at all. The "sieve" only complicated matters, since shaking it meant half the flour went outside the mixing box, and how was an upstanding, right-thinking bloke supposed to know how much of that was normal and how much was him being a cack-handed twit? (Eventually he threw in another handful of flour, poured the goopy mix into tins, and called it good enough – if Evans could bake cakes, he could bake cakes; he was smarter, prettier, and didn't want to have sex with James Potter, which proved he was superior all around.)

Another banishing charm took care of the flour and the bits of eggshell and the splashed-about goop. The cakes seemed a bit thin when they came out of the oven, but Sirius knew some good inflation charms, and a couple of those had the layers plump and beautiful and Sirius was a winner, it just went to show.

A winner covered in flour. A shower might be good.

The shower in the flat was a strange contraption; rigged up by a Muggle, held together by spells, it tended to clank and groan as it worked, which sometimes gave the impression of sharing the bathroom with a rather crotchety personality not of one's own. Still, Sirius was finally of an age to appreciate being clean over stewing in his own mingled juices, and he clambered beneath the spray, taking a very long time with his hair (as was his want) and particular care with his bits, since he hoped they'd get a lot of attention later, and good smells were very important where bits were concerned.

It was after one when he finally clambered out – magical water-heating spells being a thing of incomparable beauty – and carefully chose his least filthy pair of jeans and most attractive shirt to wear that day (a difficult choice, since all shirts were, by default, attractive when he wore them). He sauntered, barefoot, through the flat . . . and stopped dead as he glanced into the living room, the ultimate locale for all his Plans.

There was flour all over everything, and cake goop dripped from the walls. Bits of eggshell and burned up mixing bowl littered the fireplace and butter wrappers lay happily on the couch.

"Well bugger me," Sirius breathed.

Apparently his banishment charms needed a little work.

It was, of course, sod's law that James should floo in at precisely that moment. "Fetching," he said, as he dusted floo powder from his jacket. "New line in decorations, Black?

"I – " Sirius frowned at the cake goop and the eggshells and the melted bowl. "I might need a little help with clean-up," he said.

James snorted unattractively. "You think, y'tosser?" he laughed, braying like a donkey (in Sirius' opinion) as he magicked the crud out through the windows and off to God-knew-where. "I came to help with streamers. My name is not Filch, I am not your cleaning lady. Tell me you have streamers, you fuckface."

Sirius blinked, coming back to earth. "Streamers!" he said, remembering his Plans. "Yes, those! I have many!"

There were those in the world – Minerva McGonagall for instance – who could have predicted the trouble that Potter and Black could manage to get into armed with wands and several rolls of crepe-paper decorations. Not blessed with a terrible share of self-awareness themselves, however, Black and Potter had imagined very little in the way of chaos or disaster, and were genuinely surprised to find themselves mummified by red and yellow streamers by two o'clock.

"This is not going quite as I'd imagined," Sirius yelled from behind the couch.

"Mmmmph mmmph mmmmmmmmph," James offered from somewhere over near the fireplace – Sirius could just see his feet, which were tied together with a bright orange bow.

"Does that translate to 'we're fucked?'" Sirius asked.

" _Mmmmph mmph mmmmmph_ ," James grunted.

"Thought so," Sirius sighed, and wondered exactly what to do next.

In the end it was Evans who saved them – a smart woman, Sirius thought happily, love blooming in his chest; a generous soul and wonderful creature, entirely woven from light.

"I knew it," she said, sighing as she stepped through the fireplace. "I _knew_ you'd fuck yourself over."

"Mmmmph!" said James.

"Evans!" Sirius added. "Oh Evans, goddess, witch among witches, I love you."

"Yeah, yeah, you and your very small prick," she said charmingly.

"Don't talk to James that way," he chided. "He's very sensitive."

"I was talking about _you_ ," she said dryly, leaning over the back of the couch.

"I am," Sirius said softly, as though explaining the secrets of the universe to one who could barely grasp them, "hung like a hippogriff, sweet, lovely lady."

Evans snorted. "Sure you are." She waved her wand and the crepe paper fell away. "And my middle name's Delores the Deluded."

Sirius cautiously flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes before sitting up, not entirely trusting in Evans' ability to free him without throwing a throttling charm in at the end to catch him when he moved. Happily, his breathing remained unconstricted. Across the room, James groaned, pulling shreds of paper away from his face.

"Buggery," he said with feeling.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Evans offered, standing with one hip cocked and one eyebrow raised.

James stood up quickly and kissed her on the cheek. "You are the very best person in the entire universe."

"Hey!" Sirius protested.

Evans shot him a smug look.

"The very best person in the entire universe with whom I am sleeping," James amended.

"Hey," Evans said sharply.

Sirius preened.

"I'm just going to give up right now, okay?" James said. "And take a leak because Godric, nothing like forced immobility to make you have to go."

"Lovely boyfriend you have there," Sirius said archly as James scampered down the hall.

"I like him," Evans smiled, and with a wave of her wand decorated the whole room in beautiful swags of streamers and bunches of balloons, little puffs of glitter coating everything and making them shine.

"Oh," said Sirius, wide-eyed and enchanted. "Oh you are a bearable spirit of femininity, Evans," he breathed.

Evans laughed. "Presents are on the table. Give him our love," she said, grabbing James as he ambled back. "We are off home where this one can make up for being a kneazle-loving nutcase."

James smiled, shamefaced. "I do like kneazles," he admitted as she shoved him through the floo.

"So long!" Sirius waved as Evans stepped through too, and only after the floo-flames had died did he flip her two fingers and call her a troll.

*****

By the time Remus's unlocking charms sounded at the front door, Sirius was a quivering, overexcited wreck. A pile of presents sat on the coffee table in the living room; the cake was iced; the clock on the mantelpiece was singing 'Happy Birthday' in Romanian, and all in all, it was a _beautiful_ day to turn twenty (exceedingly ancient) years old.

"Sirius?" said Remus, pausing inside the doorway, bemused by the color of the floor (which had turned slightly orange for reasons Sirius didn't understand).

"SURPRISE!" Sirius said, leaping out of the kitchen doorway in a phoenix-on-a-gondola party hat, waving his wand to send tiny fireworks shooting out the end.

Remus blinked, then his face softened and he closed the front door behind him. "You daft bugger," he smiled, setting down his bag.

"S'me!" Sirius said, beaming. "There are _presents_."

Remus laughed softly. "Are they likely to explode in my face?'

"No!" Sirius said. "They are perfectly safe. Mostly. I think." He looked at the floor. "Well, unless one of them has something to do with this business," – the floor was now turning purple – "but otherwise yes, perfectly and joyously safe for Moonys!"

Remus stepped forward and kissed him softly. "Mmm," he said, pulling back a fraction, his hands in the back pockets of Sirius' jeans. "I missed you today."

"Old Witch Barnthorple not as charming as me?"

"Well, she was extremely pleasant, if a little addled," Remus said, trying to be fair. "But she had an awful compulsion to trace every story back to the time Rowena Ravenclaw locked a goat in the back of Little Snorkington's church. Were you aware the degeneracy of today's youth stems directly from the cloven-hoofed damage said goat did to Salazar Slytherin's shins when he tried to get it out of the vestry?"

Sirius leered. "I think my degeneracy has a lot more to do with things like your arse," he grinned.

Remus snorted and kissed him again. "Presents," he said firmly, before Sirius (and little Sirius) could get any ideas.

"Presents!" Sirius said, and galloped into the living room to gesture heroically toward the pile of badly-wrapped parcels on the table.

"There are many of them," Remus said, sitting on the couch.

"Yes, yes, but THIS is the important one," Sirius said, shifting a lot of smaller parcels out of the way and pushing a large box toward Remus.

"Is this from you?" Remus asked, shaking it gingerly.

Sirius nodded, looking proud.

"Hmmm." Remus carefully slid a finger beneath the spellotape at one corner.

"Oh for crying out loud," Sirius said. "It's not as if we'll use the paper again, just rip it!"

Remus arched an eyebrow and, even more slowly, slid a finger under the tape at the other corner.

"GAH!" Sirius exploded, and grabbed for the parcel, ripping at the paper indiscriminately.

Remus grabbed it back. "Mine!"

"Open it!"

"I am!"

"Open it quicker!"

Remus hugged it to his chest. "Sirius – "

Sirius sat back on his heels and folded his arms. "Slow git." He toppled back to flop dramatically on the floor. "I shall die of OLD AGE and DECREPTITUDE before we get a chance to – "

"Cars?" Remus asked.

Sirius perked up. Remus had pulled away the rest of the paper and was staring at the box in his hands – a box containing utter _genius_ : two model cars that ran on batt-er-ies and which they could race around the flat over and over again.

"Cars!" Sirius crowed.

"Cars," said Remus again, laughing softly.

"Open it, open it, get them out, get them out," Sirius urged, bouncing a little as Remus did so. "Look we – " He took a car from Remus' hand and set it on the floor. "Give me one of the silly box things." Remus correctly intuited this meant the remote control unit. "Now watch!" Sirius pushed the little lever and off went the car, zipping madly until it smashed into the far wall. "IS THAT NOT BRILLIANCE?" Sirius asked.

Remus wheezed gently, laughing with delight. "You are, without a doubt, the daftest thing in creation," he offered.

"Well of _course_ ," said Sirius in his best talking-to-imbeciles voice.

"So we should race them," Remus said, collecting himself and setting the other car on the floor, experimenting with his own remote-control unit and making the car go backwards and forwards over the same little patch of floor.

"Brilliant!" Sirius said, retrieving his vehicle and setting it beside Remus'. "Twice round the kitchen table and back again?"

Remus narrowed his eyes. "Sounds fair."

Sirius pressed his lips together in concentration. "One – "

"Two – "

"GO!" Sirius yelled, and of they went, crashing their cars into skirting boards, getting hopelessly tangled in a pair of cast-off boxer shorts by the bathroom door, spinning wheelies and trying to edge each other out of the way. The race ended up a dead heat, but Sirius was not content. "We need MAGIC," he yelled, and cast a spell at both cars before Remus could adequately protest – and in seconds, their cars were no longer under their control, but zipping madly around the living room, up the walls, over the ceiling, and out into the hallway where the fake 'vroom'-ing noises they generated seemed to be getting angrier by the minute.

"Oh Sirius," Remus said, picking up his wand with a sigh.

"Fight to the death!" Sirius urged his car, which was probably why it leapt off the wall and smacked him in the face.

*****

"Was it a good birthday?" Sirius asked later, padding into the bedroom in his still-predisposed-to-fall-down pyjama bottoms, the edges of his hair wet from where he'd washed his face.

Remus rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on an elbow. "The best," he smiled.

"Really?" Sirius asked, picking up the blankets and sliding beneath.

"The cake was really the piece de resistance," Remus laughed.

Sirius sighed. "I didn't realize the inflation charms would make it _fart_ when you cut into it," he said.

"It tasted good?" Remus offered, scooching across the bed to kiss Sirius' collarbone. "I particularly liked licking it off your face."

Sirius smirked. "Well that's because you're a dirty pervert," he observed.

Remus shifted closer, half-covering Sirius with his body, sliding a leg between Sirius' thighs. "Am I now?" he asked, nibbling a path up Sirius' throat.

"Hmmm," Sirius said. "Def'nitely."

"Can I have my real present now?" Remus whispered.

Sirius opened his eyes – when had they fallen shut exactly? – and looked up at Remus. He was smiling, the tiniest bit drowsy around the edges, but _smiling_ , with an affectionate want that made Sirius' belly flop over and his fingers itch to touch. "Real present?" he asked, wetting his lips.

"You," Remus murmured, leaning in to suck on Sirius' bottom lip until it was swollen and sensitive, and his breathing was raw.

"Oh, me," Sirius said, sliding a hand down Remus' back and beneath the waistband of his pyjamas. "Me you can have every single day."

"See? Best present ever," Remus smiled and kissed him again.

And with his hands gliding warm over Remus' skin, gathering shivers and soft, trembling moans in the hollows of his palms, Sirius couldn't help but wordlessly agree.


End file.
